


The Mirror Child

by fewlmewn (Shouriko)



Series: D&D Original Stories [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Backstory, Family Issues, Gen, Homebrew Content, Human Rogue, Mystery, Nobility, Organized Crime, Original Character(s), Protective Siblings, Teenage Rebellion, Thieves Guild, Worldbuilding, religious worship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-27 14:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14427468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shouriko/pseuds/fewlmewn
Summary: "Duck" or Ainsel Bearach Tiernan Penderghast IV as The Mirror ChildOr the story of how a rogue – noble in name but of shifty principles – came to be, and how his life got thrown to shambles on one fated day, of two fated lives...





	1. Noble Intentions

Second-born to Lord and Lady Penderghast, “Duck” grew in a fairly loving home. With the comforts of minor nobility and a thriving textile business to hold the family’s finances well afloat, everything seemed to be going smoothly for the household. A parade of maids and servants passed through the mansion, none bearing the usual disdain afforded to cruel lords and their snide spouses – as the Penderghasts were, all things considered, well-seen and beloved by the city’s citizens and by their own help – and all loved Duck and his older sister, Edra, as if they were their own children. Almost.

Aged 4, the oldest of the Penderghast children was sent to the Coast, to live with her aunt and uncle and to commence her education, in order to eventually inherit the booming business of her family’s. As she was the eldest, but new-born Duck was the firstborn male, Lord and Lady Penderghast had decided to split the duties of the house to the both of them. In a few years, Duck would’ve started studying and training to inherit the Penderghast name, instead. Lady Penderghast was heartbroken about having to send her daughter away so young, but her husband’s frequent travels to the Coast reassured her that Edra was not going to grow far removed from her family. And besides, Lady Penderghast had a babe to tend to, and the house to look after in her husband’s absence, so her mind was filled with other worries.

The time that followed was hectic, busied by crawling, babbling, crying and fussing. Where Edra had been a calm, serene baby, almost stoic in her looks and behaviours, Duck was irritable, difficult to deal with and seemed, for a lack of a better term, tortured, somehow. Bursting into tears in the middle of the night, going red-faced from constantly screaming for stretches of time, spending hours on end lethargic and oddly placid only to return to feverish tantrums that lasted for entire days, eventually little Duck drove the midwife who had seen to his birth going insane, and she was found dead in the boy’s room not six months after he was born.

Physicians and other such experts were called upon, to see what ailment or illness was troubling the child, but nothing was found to be the cause of his behaviour and the family was left to deal with Duck in whatever way possible, often leaving him to the care of a wet-nurse or a maid of the house.

Years passed, and Duck’s upbringing became easier to deal with. Tears flowed less often, shrieks couldn’t be heard echoing through the mansion anymore, and finally Lady Penderghast and the help got some peace of mind. Aged 3 and 7, Edra returning from the Coast, Duck is taught to call himself by “Bearach” and begins learning more and more things alongside his older sister, in order to become the next head of the Penderghast family. Yet sometime later, during Duck’s 9th year, Lady Penderghast discovers she’s bearing another child. The news throws the household into joyful celebrations, but the recent memory of Duck’s troublesome infancy weights down on everyone and prayers are dispensed daily to ensure a more pleasant birth and weaning for this third child. The Penderghasts’ third-born shares her birthday with her older brother, and comes into the world on the turning of his 10th year.

But unfortunately, all the prayers are in vain. The pregnancy is troubled, the birth difficult and not without near-lethal complications, and the newly born Gwynnevere is sickly and in poor health. Efforts are poured into nursing the baby back to health in time to give her a fighting chance, and for long months it seems like the frail creature is closer to death than she is to life. In the meantime, Lord and Lady Penderghast waste from the constant worrying and the house is left to its own devices until the family can stand united again. Duck and Edra are cared for by a nanny, the boy’s former wet-nurse, until finally Gwynn is declared healthy and out of danger.

Lord Penderghast immediately jumps back into tending to the family business, their finances hurt by the months spent not looking after commerce and trade, while Lady Penderghast grows more paranoid about her daughter’s health. Fearing a relapse, she requests the baby is kept in a crib by her bed, in the mansion’s master room, well into her second year, not wanting to leave Gwynn alone. The mother rambles about the dangers a little baby faces when so young and defenceless, fears she would choke herself to death in her crib if left alone. And so, each night, with feather-light breaths and a soundless sleep, the baby and her parents rest together.

All seems to be going well. The children are being looked after and educated according to the highest standards affordable by noble folk; the children’s nanny is frazzled and elusive in the Penderghasts’ presence, but the behaviour is chalked up to Duck’s over-excited rowdiness and Lady Penderghast’s over-worried meddling in how the help is caring for her young daughter. Edra on the other hand, now a young woman, travels constantly with her father to prepare to take over the family business and as a bright, independent adolescent with bigger interests than playing with dolls and toys, she leaves Duck home alone to play and cuddle, albeit gingerly, with their youngest sibling.

One midnight, however, when everyone is home for once and sleeping in their respective beds, something happens. As if moved by fate, Lord Penderghast’s usually deep slumber grows thinner and lighter, until a wooden creaking sound across the room is all it takes to stir him from sleep. When he rises, he witnesses the once trusted nanny to the Penderghast children hovering menacingly over Gwynnevere’s crib. A blade shines in the low moonlight and in an instant a spell arches from Lord Penderghast’s hand, to the woman’s shrieking figure.

The dagger clatters to the floor and all in the home are roused in a cold sweat. When Lady Penderghast realizes what just went down, she can’t help but bring Gwynn tight against her chest as she weeps into her husband’s shoulder.

Never ones to coddle their children or sugar-coat the truth, come morning Lord and Lady Penderghast reveal the events of the night. Nothing is kept from 16 year old Edra, and she’s even shown the charred remains of her former nanny, locked in place with a mask of terror upon her weathered features, so that she can learn how terrible and ghastly the world can become – and is, outside their shielded reality. Duck is spared the grisly details, but he perfectly understands the scope of danger the family was facing and managed to only just narrowly escape by a split second.

He gets the feeling that more is to come, that maybe had the nanny gone through with assassinating Gwynn, he would’ve been next. Perhaps the next day, perhaps that very same night, the blade still covered in his sister’s blood. Thinking of this, he swears to always protect his younger sister, to shield her from the horrors of the world and to never let her come in harm’s way. A noble promise, but not one he can keep as easily as he had anticipated.


	2. Low Ambitions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of those who've been reading this! It's really a boost to my morale, so I hope you'll like the second part!

Why?

Through the years, among Duck’s certainties, there’s a nagging question driving into him and poking where it hurts the most. Why had she tried to kill Gwynn? Why little Gwynn, of all people? Why not start from Edra, who was to inherit the family’s business; why not kill him, who was eventually to become the head of house Penderghast; why not Father, then, or Mother, or both? Why not set the entire house ablaze, why not kidnap Gwynn instead of killing her. In the end, the one riddle splinters off into a thousand unanswered questions, and “home” doesn’t feel safe any longer. No matter how close Father sticks to home, sending Edra to far-off travels in his stead – until one day she comes back with a man she’s on the cusp of marrying – Duck doesn’t feel out of danger, even as years go by. Mother seems to have grown more paranoid with time after that ill-fated night, but in a more poised, composed way; as if all the worries she might’ve held had culminated into the assassination attempt and there’s nothing left to truly fear, only the low buzz of preoccupation remains as she tries to raise her children lovingly, tries to make them feel safe.

But for Duck, every shadowed corner of the mansion bears claws and fangs, every movement in the corner of his eye speaks of enemies, waiting to pounce him. Soon, he learns to be faster than doors can close behind him. When torches flicker past his quickly moving shape, by the time the flame has returned to its original position he’s already gone.

Years pass. Luckily, uneventfully. Nothing out of the ordinary seems to be occurring around the household. What trouble the children might cause, if not expected or understandable for their age and upbringing, is at least very normal and somewhat manageable.

Among the underlying sense of danger he can feel licking at his boots, Duck is forced to spend hours sat at a desk studying maps, blazons and mottos, learning the sciences and what’s beyond them. It’s routine education for someone such as himself, one that’s to become the head of a noble household. If he’s to be respected and revered, there are things he should know, customs to uphold when visiting other lands and peoples, languages to speak when faced with such important figures. And yet, very little of the effort teachers pour into him seems to be retained. The strictness and insistence of tutors, however, comes in part from trying to make up for something: not lack of wits or intelligence, but focus. As if the young man were distracted, his mind far off somewhere, tending to other more interesting matters.

All Duck seems to have a genuine interest in learning is the blade. Understandable – he’s a rebellious youth after all, and the appeal of violence is a game many his age tinker around with. But his motives are wildly different. That night still gives him nightmares, and he’s moved by the desire to protect his sister. He never says so, never voices what his reasons are for wanting to become so proficient with a blade. When he starts learning how to deal deadly blows, his Father takes him aside, and chastises him for his ways. Beaten and disheartened, Duck asks to be taught how to handle daggers, instead, for personal safety. That is, before bringing his skills to the streets, left unhappy by Lord Penderghast’s lecture on how the blade is supposed to be only an ornament. A pretty thing to parade around in dexterous displays of prowess during special events, Duck’s Father explains how the rapier will be jewelled, weighting more than a regular weapon, entirely for show, dulled edges and rounded-off tip. Soon, Duck can be found spending his afternoons sneaking away from his lessons and brawling with thugs or trying to warn off bandits from mugging poor folk along the streets outside the city.

With that, Duck’s restless demeanour finds an outlet. Not the best of ways for a young man of noble blood to exhaust his youthful energy, but Duck seems to have finally found some peace. Apparently a foe, whichever it might be, is what it takes to placate Duck’s fears, making his worries tangible and the perfect bull’s-eye for his blade.

But once again his self-expression is brought to a halt when some merchants catch him in one of his foolhardy displays, and it’s not long before they report to his Father. Now, instead of frustration, shame rains down upon Duck. How dangerous, how stupid, how inappropriate it all was. It could have ended badly, and even if it hadn’t – the son of Lord Penderghast, scuffling with thieves? What a sight!

Without Edra around the house, Duck has no one to turn to but Gwynn, and vents to his little sister about how unfairly everyone’s acting towards him, how no one seems to be understanding that danger is always watching and waiting for an opening. Gwynn, although still a very young child of 6 years of age, seems to understand her brother and reassures him that she’ll be there for him if he wants to chat – even when she might not understand everything he’s saying. It’s enough for Duck, for now. But not for long, as the 10 year gap between them grows larger as he grows older.

At the turn of his 17th year, Duck visits a tavern for the first time in his otherwise sheltered life. In the next town over, where no one really knows his face, and definitely not in a hovel such as the one he’s chosen for the purpose. The acrid smell of old ale wafts across the dimly lit taproom as soon as he opens the door, and plumes of dust rise from the most remote corners. Someone turns around, red-faced and utterly drunk, by the looks of it, startled by what little daylight filters through the half-hidden entrance to the pub. Windows are boarded over and those that aren’t are covered in soot and grime; a burly half-orc woman in a chair off to the side is smoking something he’s not familiar with, but when the smell from her pipe travels to his nostrils, making them burn, his eyes watering and glossing over, he has a better idea of the sort of recreational activities these folks get up to in places like this. He scrunches his nose, hoping the woman won’t think anything of the face he’s pulling.

His disguise is efficient and no one blinks an eye when he sets down at a table of shady-looking individuals. But then again, the gold piece he adds to the pile of pitiful coppers tells another story. A cluster of three, four people – too massive against the light of day to really tell in the narrow alley beside the tavern – jump him, after he’s lost the game of cards he so valiantly had tried his hand at, and manage to rob him of all his coin twice over. Their strength and size winning out against his cunning and quick reflexes, Duck understands that skill is worth nothing without knowledge to back it – and he’s just learned his first lesson.

 

Lord Penderghast grows hopeless, and decides his son isn’t worth working on any longer, after the umpteenth time the teen returns bruised and bloodied, with peasant clothes and filthy-faced. He decides that enough is enough, whatever was learned will have to suffice for the time being.

As long as Lord Penderghast is in good health and leading the family himself, his son won’t be a problem, but eventually he’ll have to be taught how to behave – with force if that’s what it takes.

Duck keeps meeting with shady individuals and after a few failed attempts, he begins to make his way through the underbelly of the town. Shifty business is done, questionable encounters are had and he makes the acquaintance of a few interesting people, who usher him into a world of contraband, secrets and, most importantly, gambling.

What little allowance his Father still affords him, Duck manages to double or triple playing cards or dice or anything, really, in the worst taverns and pubs scattered throughout the countryside. Thinking he’s come across a nice spot of good luck – mixed with the skills he’s gained after a few lost games, tricks uncovered and black eyes from folks with too good a sight even for his quick hand movements – Duck hunts down the location of a Shrine to Tymora, wanting to seek out her favour. As luck would have it, he finds a small brick building, repurposed out of the side of a curiosity shop, entirely forgotten by the world. There, coins and trinkets decorate the bottom of a basin, like a make-shift wishing well out of a decaying fountain. The water’s stale and mouldy, green slush beginning to form around the stone, but nevertheless Duck sits down in front of it, cross-legged and excited by his fortuitous find.

He flips a gold coin in the air and with a splash it lands among coppers and the odd silver. He’s not a drinker, doesn’t like losing his wits and feeling out of himself, and he certainly isn’t one to endorse mind-altering substances, but when a shivering smiling lady appears in the murky water, he swears he must be drunk somehow, or someone must’ve drugged him against his will. Before he can question his own eyes, the Smiling Lady is gone.

Once he’s shaken off the surprise, he takes the encounter as a good sign and leaves once again, off to cause some mayhem beating up thugs in the light of day. With some luck – which he’s sure he’ll be having more of from now on – he won’t be caught or injured too much this time around, and he’ll be finally free to do as he pleases, eking out his own justice.

 

Little by little, Duck falls out of favour with the other nobles around the city, and even merchants are distrustful of him as his shenanigans become more frequent and his boldness continues to cause him trouble. The only upside to this reckless behaviour is that it brings him closer to the most hidden and guarded spheres of town. He tries to remain on the right side of the law, putting a stop to blatant crimes whenever the perpetrators cross his path, but in the grand scheme of things he’s just trying to stay adrift in a sea of lowlifes, picking up the tricks of the trade as he passes by; swearing to himself that all the things the street’s teaching him, he’ll be putting to good use as soon as he’s out of there. One day he’ll be the Penderghast he’s meant to be, and then he’ll leave petty crime behind to clear out his city. For the moment, however, there’s little he can do to fend off the Thieves’ Guild, or smugglers, or bands of organized criminals, so he’ll learn what he can with the promise to do good by his name, soon.

Very soon. Just… one last night spent at lamplight in a shifty tavern, cheating at cards, betting secrets instead of coin, throwing dice on the battered, worn table – but not before casting his eyes to the sky and sending a little curtsy to His Smiling Lady.

Just one last night spent exploring the nooks and crannies of town, learning every alley and sewer entrance, memorizing the patterns of patrols around the houses of other nobles, if anything just out of an empty sense of superiority, just to feel like he has the upper-hand over them. Knowing their moves and secret dealings makes him feel like he’s in control.

Just one last night in the embrace of someone, in a brothel or pleasure house, anywhere he can feel the warmth of another body, to learn its language and hidden knowledge. He has the coin for it, and he’s always felt safer among strangers than between trusted friends anyways, as long as no one knows who he is and as long as no one has anything on him for blackmail or other dangerous dealings. But it’s not like his reputation can suffer more than it already has.

Just one last night, he wants to be a stranger in the dark. Doing as he pleases, with no one telling him he’s a bad child for it, with no one who thinks themselves better and who’d punish him for how he behaves – no one who’d sooner replace him with his sister than listen to him long enough to understand why he’s like this.

But a short while after his 19th birth day, his Father sends the Guard after him for the first time.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the little backstory for my (possible) DnD character. I'm looking for a group to play with, so if you find yourself reading this, you can comment or message me! And thanks for reading!


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